Water and Fire
by MissJayne
Summary: Continuation of an Every Day Thought.  Tony, Ziva and McGee burn Gibbs' boat.


_A/N: I was asked to write this ages ago and completely forgot. Sorry..._

Water and Fire

**And so, to compare it with what are commonly termed the necessities of life, we find friendship of more general advantage than water and fire. – Marcus Tullius Cicero**

Timothy McGee did not think this was the best plan they had ever come up with. But he couldn't exactly come out and say that when Tony would kill him.

Gibbs had been… worse than usual for the last week. Actually, that was an understatement – he had been unbearable. Tim was used to coping with Gibbs on bad days but this had been horrendous. He had spent a lot of time hiding in Abby's lab while the entire squad room walked on eggshells.

And now Tony and Ziva had decided to get revenge. He was not happy at being dragged along but knew he couldn't escape. Gibbs was going to kill them.

Really kill them. For Tony's brilliant idea had been to burn down the boat in his basement. Ziva had bought the lighter fluid and Tony had got his hands on matches. Tim suspected he was along simply for back-up.

"Do you realize what Gibbs is going to do when he comes down here?" Tim whispered, as though the great man himself was lurking in the shadows.

"He deserves it," Tony hissed. "I'm sure I have a concussion."

Ziva continued to drench the wood in lighter fluid. "I think I am going deaf from all of his yelling," she added.

"I'll buy you a set of earplugs," Tim promised. "If we do this, he'll be digging three graves in his back yard."

"He won't know it was us," Tony retorted. "If he leaves his house unlocked, he deserves it."

Everyone stood back as the boat went up in flames. Tim decided the minute he got out of here he was going to ask Abby for an alibi. Gibbs would never interrogate the favorite.

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not in a good mood. At first, it had been utterly due to a massive argument with a certain redheaded boss of his; an annoying politician who had attempted to hand over his case to the FBI without warning him. The screaming match that had followed had probably scarred Cynthia for life, but he had achieved his aim – the case was still his.

And hopefully his former lover would think twice before presenting his cases to the FBI on a silver platter.

He had spent most of the day taking out his frustration on his team. Nothing new, they were used to it by now. It was part of the job description when they signed up. Okay, there was the possibility he had been slightly worse than usual, but everyone had bad days. At least McGee had had the sense to disappear and find work to do elsewhere in the building.

And now his precious boat had been attacked. Burnt. The scent of smoke lingered in the air, smoldering remains taunted him – a reminder that he should perhaps start locking his front door instead of relying on him being present and armed.

Because if his team really had done this – and he had no other obvious suspects – they were dead.

He remained on the wooden steps, thankfully spared from the flames, watching as Abby rooted around in the ashes of his boat, collecting evidence. She had been the only one he had called, rather reluctantly as he had not wished to disturb her evening. Not that she had minded; she seemed simultaneously delighted to prod around in his basement and furious that someone would _dare_ harm the boat.

He needed some form of proof other than his gut before he started building a sniper's nest. And there was only one person he trusted with a job like this.

The Goth was happily digging around in the ashes, having a very one-sided discussion with him. Asking why he hadn't called the fire department (he did not want _more_ intruders wandering around his basement), noting that whoever had started the fire was likely to have injured their fingers due to the presence of sawdust which would have ignited rapidly (he planned to check Tony's hands first thing tomorrow) and wondering how he had been planning to get the finished boat out of the basement (something she did not need to know).

Eventually she emerged from the crime scene, shrugging off her protective suit, placing her samples into her rucksack so she could examine them in the morning and presenting her cheek for him to kiss. He treated her to a hug as well, showing her without words how much he appreciated her.

* * *

Abigail Scuito loved evidence. It could tell her so much – who, what, when, how. It could put a man behind bars for the rest of his life or exonerate him. But it only worked if someone gathered it correctly. One false move and everything became worthless.

Her lab was cool, quiet and fairly empty. Timmy did not count as a distraction most of the time. _El jefe _was still in a bad mood, mainly due to what he happened in his basement the previous night, and Tim had fled to her domain.

She wasn't surprised; she had already heard about Gibbs examining both Tony and Ziva's hands and the discovery of burnt flesh. At least Timmy had enough sense to stand well back when the fire had been ignited. She had happily provided an alibi to Gibbs when asked; it had been easy enough to add Timmy to the list of people at the party last night.

While Tony and Ziva suffered, she was toiling away examining not only the evidence she had collected the previous night but also other cases. Gibbs' current homicide investigation. Balboa's kidnapping case. Wofford's theft investigation. The cases never ended and her work would never truly be finished.

She could not protect her friends from Gibbs' wrath – they should have come to her first for tips on not leaving evidence behind. And really, what were they thinking by burning his boat? He was going to kill them. Slowly. Or give them probie assignments for the next few years.

Either way, they were in serious trouble.

She smiled sweetly at Timmy, aware he had most likely been dragged into this unholy mess against his will. Not that she'd tell him her presumptions, especially when it gave her a certain hold over the junior agent.

"Timmy, I need a fresh Caf-Pow," she informed him. "And could you swing by Autopsy and remind Palmer that I need the tissue samples before lunch if Ducky wants answers by the end of the day."

Perhaps it would have been better for him to face Gibbs.


End file.
